


Pomegranate Crush

by cortchuzska



Series: Colorado [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2012-06-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortchuzska/pseuds/cortchuzska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alla rabiosa (the mad queen) - a cyvasse game</p><p>After sweltering, unnerving days, Oberyn confides Ellaria he will depart to King's Landing with her, and take revenge for Elia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pomegranate Crush

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted, because I mistakenly uploaded "A nest of vipers." Thanks to Eloisa for pointing out

It was hot, almost unbearably so, the sun a hazy smudge in a white sky milky with sand.

Oberyn squatted by an engraved brass platter, heaped with luscious pomegranates, chose the ripest among the ones bursting open, dug his forefinger into the gash, scooping the seeds, raised his hand to his mouth and licked them away.

“Oberyn, be a good boy, rise up and give me some.” Ellaria lazily yawned.

He sat by her side and dug out some for her too: she didn't bother to get up, and took them from his fingers. A grain went astray.

Oberyn tried to catch it with a kiss at her mouth corner, but the seed swirled, and dropped on her bosom. Oberyn absently rolled it through her cleavage, then pushed it up to a nipple with his tongue. He closed his eyes and randomly nipped.

Then sprinkled some more pomegranate seeds on her and began the chase.

“Please Oberyn stop it. We'll end up again with Myrish carpets stained, and pomegranate is way worse than blood oranges juice.”

Oberyn dutifully licked thoroughly away every trail.

“Next time in my lab, I have to devise something about pomegranate blots. Even poisons get boring, after a while.”

Oberyn took her hand pulling her up. “In the meantime, will you please sit down on the floor? It's cooler down there.”

Ellaria wiggled her arm free. “No, thanks. My buttocks won't look any better with a star shaped mosaic impressed on.”

Oberyn did actually find the picture quite enticing. “Have you never heard that past the Dothraki sea women tattoo their cheeks with interlaced patterns? It's considered a mark of beauty.”

“I have more entertaining plans.” She took her saffron silk shawl and still holding its ends tossed it over Oberyn head, aiming for his neck; but he was swifter, leant to kiss her, and the scarf landed on his hips.

Ellaria fastened it with a bow, and pouted “You have still the thin waist of a boy. And my midriff is flabby with your daughters. There is no justice.”

“With massive amounts of almond oil I spent my allowance in, it's not flabby, it's supple.” He rubbed her belly, and pinched. “That's Loreza, that's Dorea, that's Obella, that's Lily.”

'That's Elia.' She thought. Oberyn insisted on their first born being called after his dead sister, still seldom dared calling her so, and on purpose got her name wrong.

He instead was annoyed, when she missed the names of occasional scum admitted to their bed, and made quite a point of it, saying 'Now and here we are, so it's you and me, King and Queen. No matter if beggars outside.' He would not mistake names even in the throbs of passions.

\--o--

The ruthless afternoon sun seeped in through slats.

“Awkward mood, today, blame it on this dry desert wind.” Oberyn, sweat trickling on tights back and behind knees, stood up to get himself some wine.

“Best friend _after_ , worst foe before.”

“Just a sip, it's too hot even for that.” He hold a gold mounted rock crystal goblet against the dazzling sun, the light beam shone through it and made strongwine deep amber shades glisten.

Oberyn went back to her, and brought it to her lips. “Don't swallow.” Then he himself sipped, put aside the cup, and kissed her. They thirstily took from each other Dornish wine – an aged vintage with sun blazing inside, strong enough to be both sweet and dry. Ellaria, sweating teardrops of shiny pearls, sucked his collarbone; he tasted of sun, sand and salt. His dusky skin seized light as velvet, glowing back richer with a soft halo.

\--o--

The sun, still too high, was negligibly turning downwards.

“Let's play cyvasse then; the winner will decide what we're going to do after.”

Oberyn sat cross legged and sling a cushion on his groin.

“Why so shy?”

Oberyn smirked. “I don't want you to take advantage of casual moments of absent-mindedness. I always play to win.”

“More often than not, you cheat.”

“You hurt my noblest feelings, Ellaria: you can't cheat at cyvasse.”

The game came to a close, the red pieces – Ellaria's one – holding numerical advantage while her Queen swept stately on the board. Numerical advantage is often naught, in cyvasse as in real war, and previously won battles don't award you with the end game – the only victory that really matters. The Red Queen was trapped by a Knight, backed by a Tower and Ellaria, the most powerful piece endangered, knocked down her King, yielding. A sliver of sunset light piercing through the latticed windows frame flared the pieces polished wood, like it was glazed with pomegranate juice drops, with blood, or rubies.

Funny how cyvasse mimicked life.

Oberyn grabbed the board, hurled it to the wall, and scattered men felt rattling on the ground.

Rhaegar; Elia; the Red Keep.

“My Prince!” Ellaria clutched his shoulder.

Oberyn gasped and shut his lids.

Who took hold of his thoughts was not a previous paramour, not Arianne, not even his own daughters, nor the latest pretty thing at the Water Gardens. Only a woman would loom between them. Her broters never named her; a blank haunting their life; that's why Doran enjoyed the Water Garden noise, fuss and commotion, and Oberyn let his daughters accompany him everywhere, even in a quite dangerous place like his lab, and allowed them even in the supposed off-limits section in his library, whose gem was a copy of “The Loves of Queen Nymeria” where scholarly matters gave way to highly suggestive illuminations. Children to fill the emptiness their sister seized, new lives to compensate for what had been lost.

Oberyn recovered himself and hinted a smile.

“May I hope to win your pardon?”

He knelt down before her.

“Only if you deserve it.”

“I'll see to it.”

Ellaria outstretched both hands to lead Oberyn to her, rested her back on a sofa, draping her leg on his shoulders.

Prince Oberyn obliged. He threaded inquisitive fingers through the slick black silk of Ellaria's mound, to reach the rose of her folds, carefully unfurling petals, and nibbled the bud. Ellaria level breathing grew jagged. Oberyn's nose skimmed her slit, soon followed by his tongue. He went through the whole process again. She tautened, purred a hushed 'Oh', and went limp.

Ellaria run her hands through the hair of her prince's resting on her.

“Your turn now.”

\--o--

A starless night.

Oberyn dragged her to the ground.

He shoved in, and Ellaria moaned more with pain than with pleasure. Oberyn pushed deeper.

“Oberyn, you're hurting me.”

He didn't care. One more thrust, then he would come; and as forcefully, pull out, say “Sorry, Ellaria.” fling away from her, and leave. Once she asked where he was going, and he replied “Hunting.” Hunting for what, at Sunspear, in the darkest night? For a slit throat in some back-alleys? This time, Ellaria crossed his legs around his hips and didn't let him go.

“When she will claim you, you will let me know.”

“You will be the only one to know, Ellaria. We are leaving for King's Landing.”

His ardent eyes were shining onyx slits, as bright as the brightest star against black sky; the lovers' star, who bids them time to part; the star marking the end of summer, the dog, faithful companion to justice, doom and death.


End file.
